


Somewhere to stand

by Valhalla



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, Gen, Minor Violence, References to kidnapping, Some Cursing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-31
Updated: 2013-01-31
Packaged: 2017-11-27 15:43:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/663709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valhalla/pseuds/Valhalla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the curse, Abigail relearns her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Somewhere to stand

**Author's Note:**

> This doesn't follow canon post-S1 finale, but borrows a few ideas from the current season. Essentially a long, rambly "what if" rumination on how Kathryn/Abigail could have factored into S2.

_Give me somewhere to stand, and I will move the earth._  
\- Archimedes

\----

It takes almost a week to get the mayor's office cleaned up. 

The shattered glass and slats of broken wood get swept away, the windows replaced and the curtains pushed back to clear out the soot and dust and smoke for fresh air. Everyone pitches in on the repairs -- Geppetto and Pinocchio, Red, the dwarves; the woodcutter and his children too -- and eventually the black and white tile is back to pristine and gleaming, the furniture righted or replaced without any sign of the chaos and conflict from days before. 

She stands next to the window, deep in thought. Beyond the curtains, the whole town's changing -- _has_ changed. The main street's cleared of all the debris, looking as prim and orderly as her office. People still gather in little knots along the sidewalk, chatting and walking and moving through their lives, but now with more ... purpose. With the sheriff throwing open the door to all their past lives -- their _true_ lives -- there's a strange undercurrent running through Storybrooke, an electric charge filling the air. Magic for certain, as weak and unpredictable as it's been, but even more than that.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't notice the polite, if insistent, cough at first. She hears it the second time and turns to find Red behind her. The younger woman is watching her expectantly, notebooks and files perched snugly in her arms.

"Are you ready?" Red asks, her gaze bright, gesturing to the office door and the dozens of people waiting for them outside. "Can we start?"

_Well,_ she thinks to herself, straightening up and drawing in a breath, starting towards the door, _time to get this show on the road_.

To Red, she nods. Firm, decisive, unflinching -- all the things she's not feeling on the inside. They reach the office's entrance together, and Red glances her way again. In it, she sees the weight of everything that stands in the balance. The town. Their people. Their future.

"Madame Mayor?" 

Red's still waiting, hesitating before they cross the threshold into the reception area to their waiting appointments. Holding her gaze carefully, cautiously. Hopefully. 

Princess Abigail smiles at her in encouragement, features tight, and nods once more. 

_No going back now_.

\----

They storm Town Hall the same night they wake up. 

(It becomes the dividing line, that moment, the marker between _then_ and _now_ \-- when Emma kisses Henry and the purple fog sweeps in, bringing their past lives and a tenuous kind of magic into the world.) 

A group of them, practically wielding torches and frothing at the mouth for Regina, claw their way inside the building before Emma and the rest of the war council manage to talk sense into them and barter for house arrest under the fairies' guard.

Abigail's there too, once she gets over the initial shock of remembering. One minute she's packing away her and David's wedding pictures (and it was funny, how it felt like looking at a stranger's day, the white dress and the happy smiles so unfamiliar) and the next 'Kathryn' -- the gentle-mannered legal assistant with only a handful of friends and a soon-to-be-ex husband -- was nothing more than another hazy, half-formed memory. She drops one of the picture frames as everything rushes back, a tidal wave of sensations overwhelming her, and a sliver of glass slices her finger. It's all so much, _too_ much, until the welt of blood against her skin -- the red so bright, the contrast so strange -- shocks her out of her stupor.

_Daddy,_ she thinks, _James, Snow. Frederick, oh gods, Frederick --_

She grabs her jacket and flies out the door, Kathryn's memories kicking in to guide her to the main street and Town Hall. The crowd had started to gather by then and Abigail recognizes the angry rumblings of an emerging mob, but she _needs_ to find Frederick, to make sure he’s alright. A sweep of the town square doesn't come up with anything and it's the same when she scours the side streets, skirting through tangled groups of people and abandoned cars. Abigail doesn't have a clue where his home is – “Jim” had been a vaguely familiar face in the schoolyard as she walked home from work, a profile she'd sort of recognized at the grocery store or the diner -- and at a loss, she ends up in front of Storybrooke Elementary School. 

It's a Saturday, so the yard's empty. She finds the front door unlocked and enters, the clanking metal echoing strangely through the corridors without the noise and bustle of children. Abigail makes her way down the hallway, the click of her heels against the tile the only sound in the silence, and eventually stops in front of the gym. 

_This is so ridiculous. I don't even know why I'm bothering; I need to go his house or Granny's and actually find him --_

She throws open the doors.

And then there he is.

Frederick's standing on the other side of the room, lined up in front of a basketball net with knees bent and arms raised, ball bouncing off the backboard and into his hands, over and over. To Abigail, the clothes are all wrong -- the hooded sweatshirt, the vest, the track pants; a million years away from the surcoats and doublets and linen -- and the profile too casual, too languid, his blond hair a little longer than she remembers. But when he turns towards her, Abigail sees his face -- and sees her husband, the man she's loved since she was 12 years old. 

His green eyes are bright with tears, even as a smile breaks across his face. 

"I was wondering when you'd show up."

And everything she's been holding just barely under the surface since she woke up -- the panic and worry and relief and _love_ \-- comes rushing back. Abigail runs to him, her throat and chest and lungs feeling impossibly full as she crosses the floor until finally his arms go tight around her, and _oh, sweetheart_ , he whispers against her hair, again and again, hand pressed to the back of her neck, refusing to let go. _Oh Abby, I missed you so damn much_. 

\----

She refuses to let go of Frederick’s arm as they wind back through the crowded streets, her fingers twisted into the fabric of his sweatshirt. They’ve barely spoken since the school, as if any words could break the strange, fragile spell that’s brought them back together. Abigail can’t stop herself from glancing up at him as they make their way between the throngs of people, grateful all over again every time; Frederick’s hand pressed tight against the small of her back, a Morse code of reassuring touches along her spine, tells her he feels the same. 

Their entire lives have been a careful dance to keep clinging to each other. The first time they'd met, she'd snuck into the village and come across Frederick defending some of the other children from bandits, watching awestruck as he threw himself at the men with nothing more than his fists and a grim sort of determination. She'd convinced her father to have his knights take on Frederick as a squire, and they'd grown up together in the castle with secret meetings in courtyards and whispers in stairwells and a cautious, fleeting friendship. Then one day they’d been out riding and he'd pulled her close to help her mount her horse, and suddenly she was struck by just how _green_ his eyes were and how much she liked his smile and she'd kissed him, without even really deciding to, and he'd kissed her back. After that, they'd grown up trading promises of far-off happily-ever-afters, even though the words made her heart sink every time -- a princess, a future _queen_ , she knew, could never marry a simple knight, especially one of common blood. 

But still, Abigail had loved him; in a silly, fanciful, all-enamouring way as a child, then something deeper and more terrifying as she got older, and by 18 she'd known Frederick was the man she wanted to marry. Some careful manoeuvring in court and Frederick's courage and talents with a sword had gotten him knighted that same year, and then found him a place on her father's Kingsguard soon after. He was made captain at 25, the youngest in their kingdom's history; for Abigail, it brought the end to seven long years of fighting off potential suitors with flimsy excuses and ignoring the court whispers about why she was still unwed _at her age_ , instead trying to build bridges in her father's councils, to listen and learn and observe all the inner workings of the kingdom. Seven years, and Frederick had gained the highest honour could Midas bestow on a knight and Abigail had her men in every corner of the land. 

He'd proposed that night, in the same courtyard when they'd snuck off to meet when they were younger -- he'd been so handsome, his golden cloak sweeping behind him and armour gleaming, handsome and _scared_ , fumbling to one knee and grasping her hand -- and of course she'd said yes and when she'd told her father his veiled smile had let Abigail know that not all her secrets were as well-kept as she'd thought. But a few months later Frederick was cursed and for five years she'd _waited_ , finally agreeing to marry James when it felt like she couldn't hold onto Frederick's ghost any longer. James’ brave quest to Lake Nostos had been an unexpected miracle -- it bought them a little over a year together, a chance to finally have their wedding, and then the curse had ripped them apart again. Decades spent fighting for each other, and now everything in this world feels as delicate as crystal, likely to tumble out of her hands and shatter into a million pieces.

When they reach her house Abigail finally untangles herself, unwilling to step away from his side. Preoccupied, it takes a minute to notice the sign -- _The Nolans_ ; bubbly, too-cheery, she’d always secretly hated it -- and then next that Frederick’s gone still at the sight of it.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, brow furrowed and words drawled like he’s trying to collect his thoughts, “I knew -- I mean, I _know_ about you and James, but this --"

_This_ , Abigail knows, is a reminder, drawn in stark, painful lines, of exactly what the curse did to them. Twenty-eight years lost to their true selves, their happy endings swallowed up in smoke. She can barely even understand it yet, the hurt so terrible she’s almost numb to it, like the loss of her husband and her father and her people has buried itself so deep in her chest that it’s beyond her reach. 

At the top of the stairs Abigail unlocks the door and turns back to Frederick to usher him in. He beats her to it, stepping forward to sweep one arm under her knees and the other at her back, lifting her up. 

“Remember this?” Frederick leans in, bowing his head to rest against hers. Abigail laughs and slings one arm along the line of his shoulders, thinking of their wedding day, only weeks after James had freed him from her father's curse; the warm embraces from family and friends, her gown sweeping around her feet as Frederick pulled her into another dance, the bright bubble of joy that had filled her chest as she said her vows. Kissing her _husband_ for the first time. 

“Of course,” she says. “Just try to watch my head this time, alright?”

This? This is theirs, no one else’s.

Her laughter echoes as the door closes behind them.

\----

It's only a brief respite before they get down to the business of taking back the town. 

The war council meets at the diner the next morning, gathering around tables and pulling chairs together and conferring with heads close. Red and Granny refill coffee cups while the dwarves group at one end of the longer table, Jiminy and Geppetto and the Blue Fairy around the other. Ella and Thomas hold Alexandra in their laps; Snow and James speak with Emma and Henry at the head of the crowd. 

“So?”

Abigail swings her gaze towards her husband, knowing a quirk of amusement must be clear across her features. Frederick’s watching her closely as they stand outside the diner’s front door, only a few steps away from joining their friends. They’d both paused on the sidewalk, nerves betrayed by unspoken words. 

“So.”

She blows out a breath and then squares her shoulders, rounding to face the diner head on. Beyond the glass door, she can see them -- her friends, her counterparts, and she'll be damned if she's going to let Regina's curse make her look like a fool. Frederick seems to notice her new resolve and clasps one of her hands in his, lifting it to press a gentle kiss against the back of her knuckles. Already, he's fallen back into the old ways, the romantic courtesies and chivalries of his brotherhood, and Abigail loves that about him even as it fills her with a deep ache of longing for home. 

“Ready, Princess?”

Abigail smiles down at him with more bravado than she feels. 

“Absolutely.”

When they walk into the diner it's to muted conversation and veiled looks, glances shifting between them and Snow and James. Abigail falters only for a second, the remembrance of David's embrace and her fight with Mary Margaret blossoming from her memories unbidden, and then holds her head higher, Frederick ignoring the looks altogether as they cross to where Snow and James are standing. They'd been comrades in the old world, close friends eventually, but as the two of them watch her and Frederick's approach, Abigail swears that she spies a twitch of anxiety pass across Snow's face. Regardless, Frederick manages to break the ice fast, grinning and greeting the pair with a slight, if sarcastic, bow and a genteel _your majesties_. 

"Stop it, Frederick," Snow sighs, her put-upon air laced with clear affection, and Abigail can see the sparkle in her eyes. "Say hello like the old friend you are."

He smiles wider at that, sweeping Snow into an enthusiastic hug that practically lifts her off the floor, releasing her only to grasp James’ forearm and give him a hearty pat on the back. "It's good to see the both of you -- for real, I mean."

Once she’s back on the ground Snow smirks, hands moving to her hips in a stance that's so both so familiar and so foreign -- Mary Margaret, the prim schoolteacher, with Snow's fire in her eyes -- that it almost takes Abigail's breath away. And she wonders, not for the first time, how this is going to work with all of them stuck between two worlds and with two sets of memories twined together in their heads.

"I always knew you were meant for more than soccer drills," Snow says, that same wry sweetness in her tone. "Or building birdhouses, right?" Frederick throws back, his teasing just as light-hearted. 

Abigail catches James’ gaze at the exchange. There, she sees the same tightness she feels inside, that she felt at her house the night before, so different from the casual camaraderie of their loves ones. Their memories are a reminder of everything she and James have missed, the almost-true connection Snow and Frederick shared while they muddled through their unhappy life together. 

"James," she says, moving forward to greet him. 

"Abigail," he replies, pulling her into a careful embrace. She returns it more stiffly than she means to, overwhelmed again by memories of their false start of an engagement and marriage that was never more than a carefully crafted illusion. 

"I don't even know where to start," he continues. "I'm so sorry for everything. I --"

"James, stop." She holds up a hand against his words. "There's no need. That wasn't _us_ \-- none of it was."

"I know -- I know that," James says, shaking his head and not quite meeting her eyes. "Still -- I'm sorry you and Frederick were dragged into all of this."

Abigail shrugs, though not dismissively. "Regina hurt a lot of people. We weren't the only ones."

" _I_ hurt you."

"It wasn't you --"

James shakes his head again, firmer this time. "Still."

All her years in court have taught Abigail when to let something lie, especially when James looks so decided and earnest, his eyes impossibly bright. "Fine, fine," she acquiesces, laughter bordering her words. "Apology very accepted."

James’ face lights up at that. He pulls her into another hug, this one warmer than the last, and the final vestiges of whatever the curse had twisted and damaged between them disappears.

"Thank you," James whispers, touching her cheek as he pulls away. "You're still pretty amazing, you know."

She smirks at that, though her attention's been caught by Snow, who's moving to the front of the diner. "Yeah, I know."

Both Abigail and James turn to watch as she waits for conversation to subside, Frederick joining them.

"Now that we're all here, we need to discuss a few matters," Snow says, once silence has settled over them. "The fairies are guarding Regina but Rumpelstiltskin is still somewhere in the forest, and none of our scouts have been able to find any trace of him. We'll continue searching, but in the meantime we need to secure the town."

"I take it you think we're here for the long haul?" That comes from Granny, who's standing at the counter with her arms crossed, looking dour.

Snow shakes her head. "We don't know -- we _can't_ know. And until we figure it out, we need to keep the town running. We still need water and electricity and food, and to deal with some of the ... other challenges that have come up."

She doesn't say it, but Abigail sees the meaningful look Snow sends towards Emma and Henry, and knows she means custody issues. Already, Jefferson had disappeared with his daughter, leaving her parents in this world frantic with worry.

"Of course the position of mayor is currently vacant, and we need someone to take over managing the day-to-day responsibilities of the town. To lead our people while we figure this all out." The group murmurs in agreement, and Abigail's one of them; it makes sense to keep things running as smoothly as possible, even if this world is suddenly a little more foreign than it was before. “James and I have a suggestion for an interim replacement." 

And then, to her complete shock, Snow looks straight at her. 

"Princess Abigail."

There's a chorus of nods in the wake of her words and Abigail stares at them all, disbelieving. Modesty is always becoming of a princess but mostly she's just practical, straightforward about her strengths, never humble for its own sake. That Snow and the rest of them want her to lead when she's never sat on her own throne makes no sense.

"It can't be us," Snow continues, like the decision's already made, unyielding against Abigail's shocked expression. "King George and the others would see it as a threat -- that we're trying to consolidate the alliances we held back home. We need someone who'll unite our people, not make them think this is a play for power. Abigail, you've spent your entire life in court and you were raised a royal -- you know how to lead. You're _meant_ to lead --" 

"It was my father's kingdom," Abigail interrupts, "never mine in my own right. I was only the heir-apparent -- that's not the same thing." 

Snow favours her with a prim smile, and for a second Abigail thinks she's managed to talk her down, make her see reason. _Thank the gods_.

Instead -- "you're smart and you're fair," Snow concludes, her words just this side of forceful, "and you'll do right by our people."

Abigail's at a loss to respond. Luckily, that's when her husband speaks up.

"Majesty." 

Everyone turns to look at Frederick. He waits silently for Snow's go-ahead to speak. 

" _Snow_ ," he amends at her raised eyebrows, then continues. "Maybe we should put this to a vote. Beyond the council, I mean. Let the rest of the town decide if they agree. You said we need to bring everyone together -- what'll do that more than giving them a say too?"

"I agree," Ella pipes up, Alexandra snug in her arms. “We should let them make the final decision. It's only fair.” Behind her, Geppetto and Jiminy add their agreement, the dwarves following suit.

Snow and James exchange a glance. 

"Good idea," James says, approving, the discussion moving to the Town Hall meeting they'll hold that night. He follows his wife’s lead in ignoring Abigail’s frosty glare. "We can’t rely on the old ways just because they’re all we know." 

He smiles at all of them; a little wry, somewhere halfway between Kathryn's unassuming husband and the headstrong, reckless prince Abigail once knew. 

"It's a brave new world, after all."

\----

When they get back to the house, Abigail goes straight to the coffeemaker. The rest of the meeting hadn’t lasted much longer, only enough to hash out a time for the meeting and recruit Red to spread the word. Now it’s barely 10 a.m., and already she feels exhausted. She throws a new filter in, spoons out some grounds from the canister and clicks it on. Then she sags against the counter.

"It was smart, nominating me -- good strategy.” 

Abigail says it with an almost clinical detachment as the coffeemaker grinds into action beside her. She stares into the distance, mind spinning, trying to process the last few hours. The truth is that Abigail’s used to this -- court taught her, by watching her father and helping him run the kingdom, to consider all the angles and map out possibilities for every action, every inaction, every decision -- but never in a million years would she have expected mayorship in small-town Maine to be the first time she stands on her own two feet. 

“Our kingdom was always the most neutral, and our allegiances could sway hold-outs from George and Regina's sides," she continues, still looking out her kitchen window. "The promise of more gold than they can possibly imagine if we get back to the old world doesn't hurt either." 

Abigail’s so wrapped up in processing the details of her sudden nomination that she almost doesn't notice when Frederick joins her at the counter. Morning sun filters in through the window, the town a pristine picture of calm washed out in white-yellow light. For a second, Abigail remembers how Storybrooke felt before she realized her marriage was built on memories and nothing more, before she was _kidnapped_ , before the curse broke -- pale and shallow and colourless. Meaningless. 

Easier.

She looks up at Frederick, at his honest, open face, and sees everything she stands to lose. Everything that could disappear if she makes a mistake -- if she can't unite the townspeople, if Rumpelstiltskin catches them unaware, if this is a fight they can't win. And for just a second, she lets herself miss the way things used to be.

"I've never led before, Frederick, not really." Her grip tightens over the edge of the sink. "Taking care of my father's daily council meetings and the kingdom's more mundane business doesn't make me ready to take charge."

"Abby."

Frederick's hands frame her shoulders when she turns away, his grip gentle but sure; familiar. He'd always been able to steady her in a way no one else could. Even as children, Frederick had been even-keeled and steadfast, an unwavering constant. More than a few nights she'd chanced stealing past her father's guards and into the lower wing of the castle where Frederick lived with the other squires, carried only by her determination and the lovesick dreams of a teenaged girl. She'd sneak into his room and into his bed, only finding peace as she listened to him breathe, his hair a blond halo against his pillow and thin arms curled tight against her.

"Hey," Frederick finally says, waiting until she looks back towards him to continue. "You're not the default. Snow nominated you for a reason, and she was right -- you’re so strong and you’re smarter than any of us and you know how to lead. You do. You were meant to do this."

There's so much strength, so much conviction in his eyes and in his voice that Abigail almost believes him.

Almost.

\---- 

As soon as they arrive at the town meeting that night, Abigail can tell it’s a full house. Every seat’s filled, the aisles lined with townspeople standing shoulder-to-shoulder. Clearly Red had done her job.

She scans the crowd and spots the rest of the war council. Snow and James are on stage, sitting next to a microphone, Emma and Henry in the front row. Her father's there, too. She and Frederick had found him earlier in the day while they were helping Blue and Jiminy hand out supplies. He'd been her banker -- she'd seen him every week, never exchanging more than a half-smile or a few words about her accounts. Her father, and she never knew.

“Good evening everyone -- thank you for joining us here tonight.” Snow, ever the eloquent speaker, is starting to greet the crowd with the same graceful command of the room as the council meeting that morning. _She’s flawless at this_ , Abigail thinks as she moves to her seat near the front with Frederick at her side, the perfect combination of levity and warmth and steel, able to draw the crowd in and hold their trust. “First of all, I want to say that we recognize that everything is very uncertain right now. We’re all frightened and confused, and if we had any answers about what’s happening and how the curse works I would give them to you. But we’re going to figure it out. And I promise you that we are going to keep this town, and all of our people, safe. In the meantime, we need to keep the things running as they always have.”

The crowd seems satisfied enough with that, Abigail notices, and when Snow seems to realize the same she continues, casting a glance at James before she does.

“Now, as all of you know, Regina has been removed from the position of mayor,” she says. "In the interim, until we can hold a proper election we nominate Princess Abigail to take over mayoral duties. However, we'll need a majority vote. Otherwise, Princess Abigail's nomination is rendered null, and we'll start again."

Snow pauses for a moment to let anyone else step forward as a candidate, though no one does and Abigail can't say she's surprised -- the idea of democracy must still be a frightening one after living under the shadow of kings and queens for all their lives. Once a moment of silence passes, Snow commands the room again. “Alright then. I motion that Princess Abigail, daughter of King Midas and heir to the Golden Kingdom, immediately assume the position of Mayor of Storybrooke, as well as all related responsibilities and powers. Votes in favour?”

Grumpy is the first to raise his hand, followed by the rest of the dwarves. The rest of the council seems to pause, watching the room, not wanting to press the point too strongly. But Abigail notices that the townspeople are watching _her_ , not counting hands, and approving whispers and nods start to fill the room as hands appear in the air. Soon, James and Red and the rest add their vote, then Snow, her pleased smile carefully subdued, and her father, beaming proudly. Only a few are hold-outs in a sea of raised hands -- pockets of former lords and ladies well-paid for their loyalty to Regina, soldiers from her Queensguard, a few members of her court.

Frederick's the last, breaking into a brilliant grin as he turns to her and raises his hand in the air, solidifying the almost-unanimous vote.

It feels like there's a spark that alights somewhere deep inside her, watching the hands and expectant smiles, burning even brighter as she remembers the feeling -- what it is to do something for her people, to _serve_ like she used to. 

"Well," Snow says. "It seems we have a new mayor."

\----

The first order of business, Abigail figures, is getting Storybrooke back on its feet. The clean-up of Town Hall is underway, with Red -- who's volunteered as her assistant -- supervising. Grumpy and some of the dwarves deal with the street clean-up, while Granny keeps handing out supplies to the townspeople and Michael and Geppetto continue work on the handful of repairs to neighbourhood homes and business fronts. Already, Red’s book is brimming with appointments; land disputes and custody battles and rationing issues. They're all on hold for a few days until Abigail's office is reorganized enough to host them, but at least her time working in D.A. Spencer’s office won’t have been a waste. In between, Abigail relearns her life -- she spends time with her father, meets with Jiminy and Blue and her own kingdom’s most trusted advisors, tries to absorb the litany of new quirks and habits that Frederick's time in Storybrooke, that Jim's life, has created -- and eventually it feels like she has a piece of it back, as strange and foreign as it seems.

Next is starting preparations for whatever physical battle they may face. Magic still comes and goes in unpredictable starts-and-stops, even for the fairies, and there’s no way to know for certain what kind of strength Rumpelstiltskin has amassed out in the woods or what Regina has planned. And though Storybrooke’s full of former soldiers mostly loyal to their side and warriors like Red and Snow, none have enough experience to lead an army. 

Except for Frederick. Frederick, who hasn't handled a sword since they woke up, feeling too divorced from that part of his old life to think he could. Who's happy enough to blend into the background and let her and Snow and James lead, the ever-faithful servant knight instead of the prince he used to be.

He won't do what they need him to do, what Abigail _knows_ he can do. So she does what she has to. 

They're the last ones to arrive at the elementary school’s gym the next morning, the same place she discovered Frederick the day the curse broke. It's mostly empty, with classes cancelled for a few days until some of the town's more pressing issues get resolved. In the gym, James and Snow, Red and Thomas, the dwarves and the Blue Fairy are all standing next to a row of neatly set-out blue mats, a pile of impressive-looking weaponry pilfered from Rumpelstiltskin’s shop at their feet. Frederick throws a look Abigail’s way as they step into the room and he starts piecing things together, confusion and frustration mixed with annoyance. She smiles back at him, hoping the sort-of apology will come through. Sorry for deceiving him, but not for bringing him there.

“We need to start assembling an army,” Abigail says in way of explanation to Frederick, and as a reminder to the rest of the group. “The fairies may be getting their magic back, but we also need good, old-fashioned brute strength in case Rumpelstiltskin attacks or Regina escapes. And though we may have enough good men and women to fill the ranks, we don’t have anyone lead them. We need someone who knows strategy, who can train our soldiers. Who can protect the town.”

Frederick looks completely stunned at that, studying the faces of the others with disbelief. Abigail sees it, though she manages to hold back her amusement at how his expression mimics hers from the day before.

"You guys, I don't know what you were expecting but I can't lead an army.” He raises his hands, imploring, shaking his head to punctuate his words. "I've been teaching dodgeball for the last 28 years."

“You’re one of the greatest knights in all the kingdoms, Frederick,” Thomas jumps in. “Your Kingsguard was the most well-known throughout the lands -- respected and feared. Our soldiers will rally around you.”

“I can’t --"

“Try,” Abigail says gently, stalling his words. “Please.”

Before he can protest further, Grumpy tosses him a sheathed sword. Frederick catches it, his wondering gaze moving from the weapon in his hands to group clustered in front of him. The dwarf smirks at him. 

"Let's see what you've got, Golden Boy."

At that, the Blue Fairy waves her hand and the gymnasium fills with two dozen fully armed soldiers -- materialized from wisps of smoke, suddenly life-like and all headed in Frederick's direction. 

Abigail feels her whole body go tight at the expression of helplessness on his face; for a second, she doubts that she's done the right thing as the soldiers rush towards him, swords raised and shouting a rallying call. She starts forward, but only gets half a step before she feels someone's hand clamp like steel around her forearm. 

"Wait," Snow breathes in her ear. "Just give him a chance."

They stand together as the soldiers reach Frederick on the mats. He still has the sword, and as his hand curls around the grip Abigail sees the change -- his entire stance seems to shift into readiness, rigid and alert to the remnants of Jim's usual relaxed pose. The sword slides out of its sheath and his arm extends then arcs up, the metal glinting in the florescent lights. He raises his head, and his eyes -- the look there makes Abigail draw in a breath, the sharpness and the steadiness and the _fight_. Suddenly he's more _Frederick_ than she's seen since Emma woke them up.

He steps into the opening blow, and metal clangs on metal as his weapon meets the first of the soldiers' swords.

That fighter goes down, crumpling under Frederick's strength, and then he turns into the next pair of attackers, slashing and hacking until they collapse on the mats. He darts away from the next attack and spins into a hit, lifting his sword to meet the exposed sections of his opponent's shoulder between the plate armour. The next soldier goes down when the flat edge of Frederick's sword smashes into his face; another one as Frederick shoves his sneaker into his chest and pushes, then stabs his sword downwards; a third when he parries and deflects and then cuts hard.

They fall one by one, and by the end Frederick's breathing hard, sword still clasped in his hand. All of the soldiers lie at his feet. Abigail flinches when she notices the swelling that's already started at Frederick's cheek, the ragged slash of red stretching along his forearm, the sweat ringed around his collar. Blue waves her hand again and the soldiers disappear into another puff of smoke, and Frederick's sword drops to the mat with a final thump.

"Well, kid," Grumpy deadpans, the rest of them still processing the scene with wide, impressed eyes, "I think it's safe to say you made the team."

\----

They make it outside the school before Frederick turns to her, words ready. Abigail cuts him off before he can speak, though, stopping on the sidewalk and turning to him.

"I'm sorry -- we needed to make you see,” she says. “Snow and James and I. I couldn't think of another way to do it."

Frederick shakes his head, running his hands through his sandy-blond hair like he’s ready to pull it out. "By _lying_ to me?” he questions, gestures clipped, anger stringing every muscle tight. “By trapping me in a situation where I could have let everyone down? They were expecting some hero, some warrior -- what if it hadn't worked? What if that part of me had just been gone? Did you and your royal brain trust ever think of that?"

Abigail doesn’t give him an inch; she’s unyielding. Tricking Frederick was her decision and she’s prepared to deal with the consequences. "I knew it would."

"None of us have any idea how this works, Abby." He steps back, agitated. "Magic here is completely unstable. We're stuck between the old world and this place. You can't predict anything."

She brings a hand to his cheek once he stops pacing the sidewalk. Gods, she loves his face -- a thousand things spill across it when she touches him and she feels like she knows each one, every line and quirk and smile lovingly memorized, the shades of hazel and gold and grey in his eyes so familiar. "I know _you_ , Frederick. I know who you are -- the bravest knight in all of the realm, and our best fighter. We just needed you to remember that too."

"So I was a means to an end, huh?" Frederick pulls away again and shoves his hands into his pockets, voice dark. "You're starting to sound a lot like someone else we know."

The force of his words -- the _who_ he means by them -- strikes her with a blow so strong it’s almost physical, like a punch to the gut that knocks all the air out of her. 

"Someone who cursed our entire world? Someone who we think had me kidnapped, right?” At the diner, Emma had shared her suspicions that someone other than Sidney Glass had been involved in Kathryn's disappearance, and that Regina's fingerprints had been all over the case. Abigail's voice is sharp and gets sharper as the words spill out and Frederick's face goes pale, drained with regret. She pulls her coat tight around her, the anger surging so suddenly but so powerfully that she’s more than ready to storm away and leave him behind. "Is that what you mean?"

“No, Abby, please,” His plea comes out panicked, jumbled. He starts to reach for her even as she walks away. “Gods, I’m sorry, I should never have said that, I didn’t mean --”

“You did, though,” Abigail retorts, her voice like a razor, and Frederick deflates. “You meant it.”

She doesn’t say anything after that, and if he does the words are lost as she turns on her heels and heads towards home.

\----

Abigail doesn’t quite back it back to their house, though.

She storms down the main street carried by her anger, even though it starts to feel a little hollow once Frederick’s out of her sight. Aimless, she comes to a stop in front of Granny’s, not wanting to go home with her feelings still simmering but not up for seeking company. Figuring some food wouldn’t be the worst idea, Abigail goes inside -- and spots her father, seated by himself in one of the booths digging into a piece of pie.

"Daddy?"

He looks up at Abigail standing next to his booth, a forkful of pie hovering near his mouth. "Abigail," Midas smiles, placing his fork back down on his plate and gesturing to the empty seat across from him. "Please, join me.”

Abigail does, and seconds later Granny bustles over with a fresh cup of coffee. She smiles her thanks and turns back to her father, who’s digging into his pie again.

“So how goes your kingdom, my daughter?” Midas is watching her with a keen eye, good nature and expectation reflecting back in the face Abigail knows so well. “Though I must admit, I always thought ours would be the first one you’d rule, not some town on the Eastern Seaboard.”

Abigail laughs at that. “Princess to legal assistant to mayor -- not bad, huh?”

“No,” he chuckles. When the sound dies away he’s looking at her tenderly, with something so close to sorrow that it tugs at her insides. “Not bad at all.”

He reaches across the table, grasping her hand in his -- the _bad_ one, the cursed one. She doesn’t flinch, only feeling a swell of gratitude. “They made the right choice, Abigail. I hope you know that. I can’t think of anyone in Storybrooke more fit to rule, and clearly the people of the town agree.”

"But why didn’t you step forward?” she asks, the question that’s been on her mind since Snow proposed her nomination. “Or King George? Or any of the other royals?"

Midas just shakes his head. “It’s not our age anymore,” he says gently, his hand still covering hers. “We’re just relics now, from a place that no longer exists. You and Frederick, Ella and Thomas, Snow and James -- our world’s in your hands now. It’s _your_ time.”

Abigail looks at her father -- her kind, wonderful father, whose only weakness was an arrogant belief that he could outsmart the Dark One, whose desperation and pride to ensure their kingdom never went wanting again drove him to his curse. Whose golden touch took the ones he loved the most, like her mother (her heart had stopped, only moments after he received his gift, gold encasing her chest) and left him alone for so many years. On impulse, she slides out of her seat in the booth and into his, wrapping her arms around his neck. 

“Thank you, Daddy,” Abigail whispers, unable to hold back the emotion in her voice. As she sits back she laughs again, out of relief more than anything, then wipes the tears away. “I still barely know what I'm doing -- any advice from the old guard?”

She's struck suddenly by a memory from years before, when she'd only been a girl back in their kingdom. She'd entered the main chamber after hours of debate over a criminal's life to find her father slumped in his throne, fingertips steepled against his forehead. The man had accidentally killed a guard during a quarrel over food stolen for his family and had been taken in by their men, his life hanging on the balance of the whims of a few councillors and the king. "These are the moments where the burden of ruling feels like it weighs more than the blessing," he'd said when she appeared in the doorway, his advisors long gone. He'd seemed to age a thousand years as he lifted his head. "What would you have me do, daughter? Leave a man to wither away in a cell, forever punished for a crime driven by desperation? Or punish him for taking another life by trading it with his own?" 

"I would ask why the man needed to steal to feed his family in the first place," Abigail had said in reply, "and I would ensure he spent his sentence working in the fields or repairing homes in the village -- something to help his people, to give him a trade."

"You have wisdom and insight well beyond your years, daughter, and I can say for certain I'm not to thank for it." Midas had smiled, leaning back in his throne. "What a gift to our kingdom your leadership will be."

She'd laughed -- _Daddy, you know I'm not old enough to be queen yet_ \-- and embraced him, the gold of his crown cool and heavy against her brow.

The memory disappears after that. She's brought back to the present by the sound of her father's voice, the two of them still huddled together in the same booth. 

“Rule for your people, Abigail,” Midas says, more serious now. “Give them what they need, though don’t mistake what they want for the same thing -- sometimes it’s not. They’ll keep you in check, especially here. Don’t be afraid of making difficult choices, though don’t justify the things you know in your heart are wrong just to achieve your own ends. Never rule for your own self-interest. Your power is not there simply to satisfy your own desires, whether they’re wealth or influence or revenge.”

He gives her a pointed look and she thinks of Regina, holed up in her mansion. 

“Use your head but don’t assume your heart is always wrong," her father adds, touching her cheek as he says it. Abigail closes her eyes, willing the words to become imprinted on her memory. 

“And most important of all -- trust yourself. Trust what you know is right.”

\----

Abigail finds Frederick in the backyard a few hours after she left him, once she finishes a meal with her father. There's a chill in the air but he's changed into workout clothes and discarded his sweatshirt in the grass. A wooden bo staff is balanced in his hands -- borrowed from Red, she assumes -- and he spins it, moving it effortlessly.

“Hey,” Frederick says when he sees her emerge from the shadows behind the house, pausing mid-motion. “Didn’t want to bother you.”

It’s late afternoon now, their shadows stretching out against the grass. Abigail walks to him, moving slowly, still feeling hesitant. Navigating the aftermath of their fights -- though they'd always been rare -- is nothing new, but their current circumstances add an uncertainty she's never experienced. Kathryn's instincts are still bouncing around her head, as faint as they've become, and she fights against the urge to smooth things over, to say the right thing or nothing at all, or gods, make _muffins_. Not that she'd challenge Frederick for its own sake -- and there's truth to what he said earlier, buried under the anger and hurt -- but she can't let this pass without saying anything at all. For herself or for him, though, Abigail's not entirely sure.

"Guess it's coming back to you, then?" she says, her expression carefully measured. 

Frederick looks at her for a beat before he answers. "Seems that way," he says, dropping his bo to his side. "Listen," he continues as she reaches him. "I'm sorry about earlier. Bringing up Regina -- that was going too far."

Abigail reads what's under his words. He's not above challenging her, either. "But not for what you said."

“I should never have mentioned her,” Frederick repeats, firm. “That wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right." 

Abigail nods and uncrosses her arms from her chest, hooking her fingertips into the top of her jean pockets. There's still a strange air cradled between them, and she hates the curse all over again for what it's taken away and what it's created in the space left behind. That she's already doubting her own abilities as a ruler, her own _choices_ , and now adding how to negotiate her marriage to the list. 

_Damn you, Regina_.

"And I'm sorry for not telling you what was happening. That wasn't fair either." 

Frederick smirks at that, planting his bo staff in the grass and leaning his weight against it. "Let me guess -- but not for pushing me?"

"I needed more than words to show you, though I should have found another way," Abigail says, feeling more at ease as some of the tension dissolves between them. Just as quickly, though, Frederick's levity disappears again. "I'm just worried, Abby," he says, taking one of her hands in his, fingers weaving together. "What if we make the same mistakes she did?”

“You know that leading means making difficult choices, Frederick." It doesn't escape her that she's using her father's words, echoing the same thing he said earlier. It's comforting, even if she's still struggling with exactly _how_ to do it. "You saw that in our kingdom, the decisions my father had to make. Good and evil aren't always as tangible or as simple as we want them to be."

“Exactly,” he says. “The Evil Queen was so blinded by what she wanted most -- her revenge on Snow -- that she destroyed an entire _world_. Even the worst things are easy to justify if you want them enough.”

“Well, then we just ... do the best we can.” Abigail tangles their grip closer, looking down at their entwined hands. “We weigh the good and bad, and we do what we think is right. It's maybe not the most compelling argument, but it's what we've got." She sighs, her other hand straying to her brow as reality hits her again. The motion was always her "tell" for when she was stressed, David ( _James_ ) had said. "It's what _I've_ got."

A smile crooks the corner of Frederick's mouth; he's watching their hands, too. "Not all you've got."

Abigail looks down again and two bands of gold have appeared, nestled in his palm. "They're not ours," he adds, "but I found them at the pawn shop -- here." He slides one of them onto her finger; the gold feels warm against her skin, still carrying the heat from Frederick's body. 

And he's right, her wonderful husband -- her confidante and best friend for so many years, the man she lost and found and lost again ( _love you_ , she murmurs, her head bowed against his, her ring a welcome weight) -- that even with everything else stacked against her, even with all the things she stands to lose, she still has so, so much.

\----

When Frederick is out of fresh T-shirts for the second day in the row, Abigail figures it's time to clean out the rest of his house and bring his belongings back to her place. It's another step towards acknowledging they may be in Storybrooke for a while, as much as it pains Abigail to do it. Before, it had been easy to escape into the town's familiarity as Kathryn, to lose herself in its comfortable prison -- one of the curse's side effects, no doubt. Now Storybrooke feels like a prison of a different kind, disconnected from the old world and the secret of how to return still hidden.

But Abigail's nothing if not practical, so she and Frederick spend the morning packing up the small, spare bungalow that Jim had called home. It's eerie, Abigail thinks to herself as they fill the trunk of his car: a few boxes of clothes, some kitchenware and sports equipment, a handful of books (mostly athletes' biographies, _The Art of War_ stacked in the pile too). To see all these totems of Frederick's false life, the manufactured fabric of his past. 

They're doing a final sweep of the house when she notices the photographs propped up on one of the bookcases. Some are of his parents and older brother (strangers now, Frederick had said, unwilling to seek them out since the curse broke); one of him and his friends covered in mud and brandishing Frisbees; another of a proud-looking Frederick with a trophy and what she figures must be the Storybrooke Elementary soccer team. But it's the picture of him as a child that grabs Abigail's eye the most. He's in a football uniform, on one knee and ball tucked under his arm, squinting up at the camera with the same bright grin she's known for decades.

Frederick notices her paused at the bookcase and puts down the box he'd been holding, walking up from behind. 

"I have all these memories of playing when I was a kid," he says, looking over her shoulder at the photograph. "I remember meeting this scout from Ohio State when I was a senior. Got a full-ride scholarship to the school, though I messed up my shoulder pretty bad in a game that year and they took back their offer. Decided to do education at the community college instead, after that. Just didn't feel like leaving Storybrooke was in the cards, I guess."

"I know what you mean," Abigail says, voice full of memories. "I was -- Kathryn was, I mean -- always so scared of leaving, though I never really understood why. And there was David -- we met in high school. It seemed to make the most sense to do the paralegal program here, instead of bothering to go away for law school. When I think about that ..." Abigail shakes her head. "Regina did a bang-up job with the curse, I have to admit."

Frederick gives her a quick squeeze of a hug, smirking a little at the last part before he presses a kiss to her temple. He grabs the box he dropped before. "Ready?"

They spare one last look at the remnant's of Jim's life -- of _Jim_ \-- and lock up the house with a finality that Abigail thinks they both feel.

"Hi Mr. J!" 

Both of them perk up at the sound of Henry's voice; he and Emma are on the sidewalk outside the house, clearly in transit. "Or Prince Frederick, I guess? Mr. J is my gym teacher, but in the book he's the Golden Knight. Remember, we read his story the other night -- he killed the chimera for King Midas and saved all the villagers from those ogres, but he got turned to gold accidentally until Princess Abigail and Grandpa saved him and then he became a prince --" Henry says the second part as a rambling aside to Emma and then beams up at them. Even though Kathryn hadn't had much of a relationship with the boy outside of passing each other in Town Hall's corridors or at the Mills' mansion front door, he seems happier now. Less sullen and drawn into himself. He'd always been so ... morose before, his frustration with Regina only ever thinly veiled. And though her sympathy for the former mayor is currently running on an extremely limited supply, Abigail does know that the one thing -- the only thing -- Regina truly loved was Henry, even if he never seemed to return the sentiment in the same way.

Frederick turns from placing his box in the car's trunk and kneels beside him, grinning widely. 

"Hey, Henry!" He reaches out to squeeze the boy's shoulder. "Just Frederick is good with me." He looks up at Emma next. "How's everything going with you two?"

"Oh fine," Emma shrugs. "Getting a little cozy in the apartment, so we decided to grab some food at Granny's." It's well-practiced indifference but Abigail figures that being in close quarters with the people she knows to be her parents must be stifling. She's seen the way Emma watches Snow and James now, the forced detachment that barely covers the hurt at her abandonment still churning underneath. 

Frederick looks at Abigail and then back at Emma, still crouched at Henry’s height. "You know," he says, thoughtful for a second, "if you need some more space I'm just moving out of my place here. It's just going to sit, if you guys are interested? It's not much, but at least it would give you a little more breathing room."

Surprise dawns across Emma's features, chased by pleasure and then suspicion. She stares at Frederick through narrowed eyes, though Henry starts and looks up hopefully all the same.

"What’s the catch?” she asks.

“No catch,” Frederick chuckles. "Storybrooke's not exactly a booming real estate market with what -- two or three new people a decade? And besides,” he adds, ruffling Henry’s dark hair with affection, “it’s the least I can do for the two biggest heroes in town.”

“Heroes?” Henry scrunches up his nose at that. “Emma’s the saviour; she’s was the one who broke the curse.”

“You made the rest of us believe, Henry,” Frederick says. “You made Emma believe.” 

“And sometimes," Abigail adds, thinking of the endless hours sitting beside Frederick, wishing her father’s curse away with the taste of gold in her mouth, "being the only one to believe in something is the hardest, and the bravest, thing to do.” 

Frederick smiles tenderly at her and then back at Henry, reaching for his shoulder again. “That’s two times now your family’s saved my life. Do you know what that means?”

Henry shakes his head, wide-eyed and serious, and Abigail sees with perfect clarity the part of Frederick that must have made Jim a wonderful teacher in this world; the careful, confident way he speaks, the understanding grin, the strength and steadiness. 

“When you save a knight’s life it means they owe you an oath of protection. I owe your grandfather a debt for bringing me back, and now you too. You know how a knight’s oath works?” 

Henry shakes his head again. 

“It’s forever, for as long as the knight’s alive.” Frederick straightens up on one knee, grasping Henry’s shoulders. “Henry Mills, as the captain of Midas’ Kingsguard and a knight of the Golden Realm, I pledge myself and my sword to safeguard your life from this day forward. My fealty, my strength, my honour -- I swear it to you.”

“Cool!” Henry says, voice full of boyish glee. “I’ve got my own knight?”

“And a house, apparently.” Emma smiles down at her son and then Frederick, her earlier misgivings seeming to melt away. “If you’re sure it’s alright, I’m going to take you up on the offer. Three generations is a little much for one apartment, and I’m sure my … parents want to spend some, uh, quality time together.”

Frederick stands again, glancing back at Abigail to confirm. “Done. I’ll leave the keys in the mailbox, and feel free to chuck the rest of my stuff in the basement.”

After a few more exchanges mother and son continue down the sidewalk, Henry practically with a skip in his step. Abigail watches them go, leaning against the car, until Frederick comes back from tucking the keys away. 

"That was a sweet thing you did for them," she says, still watching their retreating figures. "And for Henry."

"They deserve it. And he’s a good kid -- he always was one of my favourite students." Frederick nudges his shoulder against hers, a little bashful, and follows her gaze. "Think that'll be us someday?" 

Abigail moves closer to her husband, humming with contentment. "I hope so," she says quietly, thinking of Kathryn’s misplaced joy when she'd thought she was pregnant, the chance she'd never even had with Frederick. 

All the chances she's never had, until now.

\----

Sometimes, she still dreams of her abduction.

Those memories have mostly faded away with the rest of Kathryn's world, and even then the time between her car going off the road and waking up behind Granny's has stayed a hazy, dreamy blur of shadows and dank, musty smells and a weariness that seemed to run bone-deep. 

The terror's still with her, though. It comes back in the darkest hours of the night, the way she'd felt in those lucid moments, before drugs would thread through her veins again and it would all fade away. The panic and the terror and the hopelessness, wondering if this was the place where she'd die. Days bleeding into days in her windowless, locked room until there was no way to measure nightfall, only the drugs and sometimes the impression of water wetting her dry throat. Food too, though she can't ever remember what it was. 

Days waiting to die. _Expecting_ to die, until she's so wrapped in the fear, the constant weight of it, that it's like wearing a second skin. 

Even with all those memories, Abigail still knows the end of the story -- feeling the gritty sharpness of pavement under her hands as she woke, Ruby's scream echoing in the background and Emma standing above her, all desperate concern. The world coming back inch by inch; Granny's, the ambulance, the hospital bed with its warm, stiff sheets and the steady thrum of beeping machines. 

Sometimes, the nightmares don't carry her there. In her dreams, she's still stuck in that damn basement or wherever she was held, trapped and frantic. Those nights, she wakes up to hot tears on her face and Frederick hovering above her in bed, smoothing back her hair and whispering her name. 

It's one of those nights, the dreams mingling images from her true life and Kathryn's. The taste of blood and gold as she'd tried to free Frederick, her father almost weeping in the background; the look of steeled desperation on her husband’s face as the curse started to sweep through their castle ( _I love you, I love you, I love you_ , a ragged chant in her ear, his body crushed against hers); the same dark place where she'd been held as Kathryn, and _sleep, dear_ some nameless, faceless person had told her, the rest drifting away.

The dreams leave her restless and tired, so just after dawn Abigail slips out from between the covers and leaves Frederick in their bed, wandering out to the front porch with a mug of coffee. She cradles the still-warm cup, playing with her ring and watching over the silent neighbourhood. 

It takes a few minutes before she notices the piece of paper sticking out of her mailbox. Abigail stares at it, curious, and then walks over to pull it out. It’s not paper after all, but a piece of parchment sealed with wax and scrawled with a flowing script that invokes another wave of nostalgia for home. 

_After nightfall, at the well. I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to come alone._

Even if the barely veiled sarcasm hadn’t told her exactly who it was from, the elegant ‘G’ pressed into the wax did. Abigail doesn’t dare tell the rest of the war council, at least not yet. She knows Emma would be bound to protest and Ella and Thomas would be livid, with good reason. 

So that night Abigail goes by herself, other than a sandy-haired shadow that follows her through the woods a few paces behind, his sword strapped to his back.

"You came."

Rumpelstiltskin -- Mr. Gold, as she'd know him for 28 years -- steps into the clearing. The monster who’d twisted her father's request for _gold at his fingertips forever_ and left him unable to touch anything again, with a curse that felled so many of their loyal men. And Frederick. And her mother.

Who never gives anything without a price.

Abigail straightens herself up, drawing on all the confidence and self-assuredness she'd cultivated during her time as a princess, even though her instincts scream at her to be on high alert. "You were expecting I wouldn't?" 

“Are you alone?”

“Of course not.” Abigail thinks she sees Rumpelstiltskin smirk at that. “But Frederick is far enough away that the details of our conversation won’t be overheard.”

“But close enough to hear if you scream?”

“That’s the general idea, yes.”

“How is the Golden Knight, by the way?" He glances down at her left hand when he says it, taking note of the wedding band there. "And your father? I heard about the tragedy with your mother back in the old world -- my condolences.”

Abigail grits her teeth. “I’m sure you didn’t ask me here to trade idle pleasantries, Rumpelstiltskin,” she says, stiffly. “What do you want?”

“You wound me, dear.” He touches his chest, just above his heart, tone dripping mock-disappointment. “Can’t a man get to know Storybrooke’s newest mayor a little better? Our situation is so … delicate at the moment. I thought you should know that I’m not all bad.”

“I’m not here to barter."

He smirks again. “Well that’s what I do, dearie -- what else did you expect?”

Abigail’s silent at that, because she doesn’t have an answer. Part curiousity to size up her opponent and the villain of her father's story, part a desire to intimidate, probably too-large a part of desperate hope that Rumpelstiltskin will provide some magic way to find their way home and right their lives. As if it would ever be that simple.

Rumpelstiltskin’s gaze turns steely, interrupting her silent contemplation. "You have something in your possession,” he says, suddenly all business. “Something I want."

The name leaves her mouth unbidden. "Regina," she murmurs. _Of course_. "You want Regina." 

Rumpelstiltskin doesn't say a word. His grin gives it all away.

“Absolutely not,” Abigail says. “I won’t trade someone’s life away like a few gold pieces.”

"Even _her_ life? What, my dear, do you think she had in store for you when you disappeared? Framing Snow White for murder, then having you miraculously reappear and her fully cleared?" He quirked an eyebrow at her. "Does that sound like the kind of plan the Evil Queen would design?"

A cool pit of fear blossoms in Abigail's stomach. She'd suspected it, sure, that whoever had kidnapped her hadn't intended for her to stay alive but to hear it confirmed, and about _Regina_ \--

"She wanted me dead." Her voice stays steady, and she's proud of herself for that. "She meant for me to die."

"Aye," he confirms, a crooked smile firmly in place. "And for me to do the deed. But there seemed to be more ... value in keeping you in the land of the living."

"Value," Abigail says. "So you kept me in that place, wherever it was, and then let me go when the timing seemed to suit you best. I suppose you also set up that heart with my DNA to make sure everyone thought I was dead."

Rumpelstiltskin nods. "You're a sharp lass -- you deserve the truth, at the very least. So with that on the table, I propose a trade. You give me Regina, and Storybrooke will remain safe and protected for as long as you remain in this realm.”

“And if I say no?”

“I’m going to get her one way or another, dear.” There’s a sudden iciness in his tone that frightens Abigail, and for the first time she sees the Dark One, not the harmless-if-cankerous pawnbroker that used to bother her for rent. “I’m offering you the path of least resistance. Think of it as a sign of good faith, for leaving the rest of the town alone. And besides -- it's not her life I'm interested in, only her magic.”

"Why?"

"Because I lost something precious to me, many years ago. And the Queen's magic, in this practically magic-less world, will help me get it back."

"What?" Abigail asks, even though she doesn't expect an answer. "What did you lose?"

“My son.” The way he says it, so plainly, seems to surprise him as well. Abigail, of all people, understands the way grief and loss manage to drag the words out, even in the presence of strangers. And as much as she’s surprised by it, she feels a sudden rush of empathy for the man, though she treats it with caution and doesn’t let anything other than detached interest show. 

“Is he back in the old world?”

“He came to a land without magic, and I let him leave without me -- left him alone, by himself,” Rumpelstiltskin says, more to himself than her. “I believe, dearie, that world and this are one in the same.”

“So you’re trying to use whatever magic is here to cross the town line and find him -- including whatever Regina has left.”

“That would be the gist of it,” he replies.

"Why would you ever tell me this? We're not allies."

Rumpelstiltskin smiles. It's sardonic, sure, but Abigail thinks she sees a particular brand of sadness there too. "Because, Princess, I believe that you more than anyone else knows what it's like to be separated from the one you love."

Her brow creases, confused. "The curse took that from all of us -- why would I be different from the rest of the people in this town?"

"Almost three decades forgetting your husband or children or friends is a curse, yes indeed. But forgetfulness has its blessings, too -- you can't miss something you don't remember. You, on the other hand, spent five years with your beloved Frederick trapped in gold. And I don't doubt, dearie, that you remember every single second." 

Each syllable comes out with force, his voice dropping off on the last word, clipped by grief. Abigail keeps the emotions from playing across her face, though her throat burns and her hands fist at her sides. The exact reaction he was hoping for, she's sure, because she does remember. All of it.

"You won't get Regina," she says, and she means the words with every ounce of her being.

Rumpelstiltskin lifts his shoulders, the slightest imitation of a shrug. "Have it your way, Princess," he says, giving off every air of indifference and turning to leave, his back facing Frederick's concealed direction as a final slight. "But don't say I didn't warn you."

\----

Her thoughts whirling, Abigail makes her way back to the house with Frederick at her side, the conversation with Rumpelstiltskin still replaying through her mind. She hadn't shared what Rumpelstiltskin told her with Frederick. It's still too raw, the confirmation of what she always feared, the wound too fresh to tell even her husband. Instead, she keeps it cradled close to her chest and wonders to herself if the nightmares will ever stop, knowing what she does now.

When they turn onto their street they both notice someone standing on their front steps, still to far away to be recognizable. Abigail feels Frederick stiffen beside her and reach for his sword, shifting to step in front of her as his fighter's instincts kick in. She tenses too, ready for flight or fight, until she makes out the figure loitering on their property.

"Jiminy?"

The cricket-turned-psychologist turns at the sound of his name, smiling and giving them a short wave. Frederick relaxes in palpable relief and slides his weapon back in its sheath, his hand finding hers as they approach the front lawn. 

Abigail returns his smile, trying to appear as welcoming as she can in her confusion and with the day's earlier events still hanging over her head. "Jiminy, hi. I didn't think we had a meeting scheduled?" 

"Princess Abigail, Prince Frederick," Jiminy says, a little apologetic, bowing slightly at the waist. "We didn't, no. And I'm sorry to arrive unannounced so late. I've been, uh, looking for you. Regina's asked to see you."

Abigail bites back her sigh. She's been avoiding this particular meeting, happy enough to keep Regina under the fairies' guard and away from her conflicted feelings about the woman she used to call friend. 

_What, my dear, do you think she had in store for you when you disappeared?_

Especially now.

"Has she spoken to you at all?" Abigail asks instead of staying trapped in her thoughts, turning to Jiminy as they turn away from the welcoming sight of her home and begin walking towards Regina's mansion. 

Jiminy shakes his head. "Not, unfortunately not. I've been reaching out to her, but nothing so far. Talking about Henry seems to engage her somewhat, though it hasn't gone anywhere yet."

Abigail lets that settle while they continue their walk across town. Finally reaching the mansion, they move past the fairy guards and exchange nods, Abigail knocking. After a moment, Regina throws open the door with a welcoming smile, playing the gracious host even under house arrest. 

"Princess, thank you so much for joining me." At the sight of Jiminy and Frederick, she drops some of the affected pleasantness and quirks an eyebrow. "And I see you brought company."

Abigail ignores that and sweeps past Regina, into her home. "You told Jiminy we had business to attend to?"

"I wanted to speak with you, yes," Regina says, still eyeing the two men as they follow Abigail inside and into her living room. Frederick stares right back. "Though I'd hoped to do it under more ... private circumstances."

"You don't get that luxury," Frederick speaks up. Abigail can tell that even the sight of Regina has him furious, and it only takes seconds for the tension to escalate. “Not after what you've done."

"Oh spare me." Regina spits out her words, reflecting back the same kind of barely simmering contempt as she steps closer to him. "Not everyone was as lucky as you, Golden Knight. Not all of us were living out our happily-ever-afters in the old world."

"So what -- you didn't get yours so no one else does? You stole all of our lives, destroyed families -- you ripped our kingdoms apart." Frederick's nearly shouting, moving even closer into Regina's space as well, fists clenching and unclenching so hard Abigail keeps expecting to see blood embedded in his palms. Even the fairies seem nervous, Nova's wand subtly raised in one tenuous hand.

"Stop it," Abigail orders fiercely, stepping in between and using her body to shield them from each other. "Both of you."

"Kath --" Regina starts and then stops herself mid-syllable, grief and frustration creasing her features for a moment. She draws in a breath. "Abigail. Please. I called you here because I wanted to say that ... I'm sorry, for the hurt I've caused you and your family. I had hoped that you wouldn't be involved, but my hand was forced. It was ... unfortunate."

Abigail laughs at that, eyes narrow, her emotions feeling like they've been strung taut and snapped under the pressure. Even if Regina is a monster, she was made, and Abigail doesn't envy the path's that led her there. But seeing her face-to-face, remembering her captivity for the millionth painful time, it's hard for Abigail to damper her own feelings towards the former queen.

"Unfortunate?" she says. "I guess that's one word for it." 

"Please believe me, Abigail, I never meant for you to get hurt." Regina says it so earnestly, with such a wounded desperation, that Abigail wants to believe her. "I needed someone to keep David occupied, to keep him away from Mary Margaret." 

"Which is when you kidnapped me." 

"Which is when I had to take more ... extreme measures to make sure they didn't reunite. I had Gold detain you --"

"I'm sorry," Abigail interrupts, her voice rising, "is this you apologizing? Am I supposed to feel _sorry_ for you?"

Regina pauses, seeming to collect herself. Abigail can't decipher the warring play of emotions across her features, but when she starts speaking again it's at a slower, more deliberate timbre.

"I meant what I said," Regina says, the words so stiff that Abigail knows it's only to keep her emotion in check; _that_ she still remembers from Kathryn, from the tentative hug in her kitchen. "I do consider you a friend. I hope someday --"

"That what, Regina?" Abigail barks out before she can stop herself. "That we'll be friends again? That I'll forgive and forget that you tried to have me killed?"

Frederick starts at the new information, stepping towards them with a bewildered, furious roar until Nova blocks his path with her wand. Regina just ignores Frederick's aborted approach and, to Abigail's shock, looks properly chastised, the rest of her fire seeming to drain away. She doesn't lift her eyes when she speaks again.

"I hope," she says, her voice measured and almost soft, and Abigail fights against the deep, unending ache that twists her heart for the millionth time since she woke up, "that someday you can understand why I made the difficult choices I did." 

“Princess Abigail!”

The sound of her own name tears her attention away from Regina and she turns to find Red bursting through the foyer, breathless and frantic.

“Princess.” She gestures outside, ignoring Regina and the clear tension between all of them. “You need to come _now_.”

\----

Red leads them to the main street without another word, only a desperate _hurry_. In the middle of main street, a circle of soldiers have someone surrounded. Abigail rushes to the group of them with Frederick behind her, already pulling his sword out.

"I don't know where she came from," Red pants, "I tried to get her name but then the soldiers showed up --"

“Stop, all of you!” Abigail demands, holding up her hands to stop any of the soldiers from advancing. "What’s going on here?"

It’s a girl they’ve encircled, arms raised and palms open to the sky. Her dark hair's long and wild, though clean, her clothing practical but ill-fitting. Abigail doesn't have a clue who she is, either from the old world or Storybrooke.

"I'm unarmed," the girl says, fear painting her words though her voice is still strong. "I'm not here to fight." 

Their weapons stay where they are, still raised at attention, all of them watching her with clear suspicion. “Stand down,” Abigail shouts, finally reaching the cluster of soldiers of putting herself between them and the girl.

They seem to pay attention to that, dropping their swords and looking to Abigail for guidance. "She's a stranger, Princess," one of the supplies, even with some of the earlier adrenaline ebbing away. "She came from the forest, from where we believe Rumpelstiltskin to be hiding."

"She could be a spy," another adds, "here to hurt our people --"

"Let her speak," Abigail interrupts, turning to the girl who still has her hands up towards the sky.

The girl smiles gratefully in her direction, finally dropping her arms to her sides. "Thank you," she says, the lilt of her accent making it sound more like they're exchanging pleasantries than launching into possible hostage negotiations. "My name is Belle. I've come on behalf of Rumpelstiltskin, but not to cause you any harm. I'm here to see if we can come to a ... resolution of sorts. A treaty."

The soldiers burst into a flurry of muttered conversation at that while Red and Frederick exchange veiled looks. Bargains of any kind with Rumpelstiltskin are a dangerous thing -- Abigail knows that of course -- and one of the reasons why she already rejected his offer to trade Regina. But if the townspeople knew what he desired, that he wanted the woman who stole their lives and cursed them all, they may not be so inclined to do the same. 

"We can talk," Abigail says. "But first let's go somewhere a little more comfortable." 

\----

When they get her back to the diner, it's to the rest of the war council’s inquisitive gazes. Frederick still looks suspicious, Granny and Grumpy joining in with their own wary expressions. Thomas and Ella make every effort to distance themselves from Rumpelstiltskin's associate, sitting as far away as possible. Only Red seems sympathetic to the girl, who's around her age and with whom Abigail knows she must feel some kind of kinship. Snow, James and Emma just watch, waiting for Abigail's next move.

"You're safe here with us, you know," Red speaks up. "We can give you refuge from Rumpelstiltskin."

There's a pint of beer sitting on the table in front of Belle, next to a glass of Granny's best scotch that Abigail plays with more than she drinks. Belle watches her beer, though Abigail gets the feeling she's picking up on more than she lets on. Eventually she abandons the drink and looks up at all of them, her attention focusing on Abigail. 

"I'm not his prisoner," Belle says evenly, "though I am here on his behalf."

"Why didn't he come himself?" James asks from across the table. 

"No offence meant, your Majesty, but would you have really spared him a moment to talk before locking him up?" Coming from Belle it's a genuine question instead of sarcastic deflection, Abigail notes, chased by a flicker of a self-aware smile. "I even got a beer."

"Point taken," Abigail replies in James’ stead. "You said you're here to negotiate some kind of deal?"

"You're keeping Regina prisoner. We only want to use her magic -- she won't be hurt. In return, Rumpelstiltskin will ensure that the town remains protected."

_So he’s decided to tip my hand_ , Abigail thinks. "We won't hand Regina over to him."

"She's a danger to all of you." Belle leans forward with the force of her words, staring at them all in turn. Abigail's struck by how much older she suddenly looks, this young girl, her delicate beauty shadowed by a flinty steel in her eyes. "As long as you have her here, she could overpower your guards at any moment, and use her magic to take back the town. I know from personal experience how evil she is -- in the old world she kept me prisoner, just to manipulate someone who cared about me, and in this world she locked me up in a bloody asylum for almost three decades."

Abigail tenses. Even with Regina's earlier apology, the misery she'd inflicted -- both in the old world and in Storybrooke -- is still raw in her memory, a wound that hasn't healed. No question the others feel the same, and turning the meeting into a rehash of Regina's various crimes won't keep her out of Rumpelstiltskin's clutches. "Belle, we won't turn you away but you won't convince me otherwise about Regina."

It's not Belle who answers her, though, but Granny. 

"Why not?"

All eyes turn to the older woman. "The girl's right -- Regina's a danger to the whole town. There's no good in keeping her here. I say let them have her. At least she'd be out of our hair and out of trouble."

When Snow speaks in reply, it's less biting than outright shocked. "Is that what we've become?" she asks as Granny glares daggers in her direction. "Are we going to follow in the footsteps of Regina's clearly _excellent_ example, and let revenge guide our actions?"

Belle seems to pick up on the rising tensions and jumps in again. "Give me some time to talk with you about this," she interrupts, appeasing. "Please. I'm sure if we --" But any more words disappear into a sudden yawn, as Belle turns her head to muffle the sound into the back of her hand, and Abigail feels a surge of sympathy. As much as she's not entirely at ease with Rumpelstiltskin's companion in their midst, the last week hasn't been easy on anything of them, and that's got to include Storybrooke's citizens of more dubious intent as well.

"It's getting late," she says gently, rising from the table. "Why don't you take some time to rest and we can speak more in the morning?"

"I'm sure we have a room for you at Granny's," Red adds, and Belle nods. 

The rest of the group takes that as a cue to wrap up the evening, and they begin to collect their things and leave. Belle stops next to Abigail before she departs, her hands clasped daintily in front of her, as Thomas and Ella and the rest filter out. "Thank you, for the hospitality," she says. "I wasn't sure what sort of reception I would receive here. I appreciate you taking the time to listen to me."

She follows Granny out of the diner, while Abigail stops Red with a soft touch on her arm. "Keep an eye on things," she says in an undertone, watching as Red's gaze slides meaningfully towards Belle’s silhouette. 

"Got it," Red murmurs back, pulling her jacket on around her shoulders. She slips out into the night, behind Granny and Belle.

Abigail watches them go, still feeling torn between compassion and a lingering sense of unease. Frederick idles a step behind her, arms crossed tight in an echo of Granny only minutes before and eyebrows raised.

"I don't know what it is exactly," she says, answering his silent question, "but ... there's more to this. I highly doubt Rumpelstiltskin would send Belle to play diplomat on a whim. Maybe we can convincer her otherwise, but I've got a feeling this isn’t going to be easy. I think it’s going to get worse before it gets better.”

\----

She has no idea _how_ much worse until the next morning.

"He's gone!"

Emma bursts into the elementary school gym where the others are training, more panicked than Abigail's ever seen her. Snow's inspecting a row of would-be archers, double-checking their form as they pull back on their bows, arrows ready to fly into the targets set up nearby. Along the other wall, Thomas is sparring with James and a few men from King George’s old guard, while Abigail, Ella and Frederick pour over a table of atlases and roadmaps. 

Abigail is the first to reach her. "Emma, what's wrong? What are you talking about?"

"It's Henry," Emma says to the group that's now gathered around her, still breathless. "I just -- I left him for two seconds at Frederick's place while I went to grab some stuff from Mary Margaret's apartment. I was gone maybe five minutes."

Before anyone can respond, Red blows in the door behind Emma, almost as frantic. "I can't find Belle -- we watched her room all night but she's not there. I think she went out through the window. I tried to track her scent but it got lost on the street, and --"

Emma whips her head around, looking like a light bulb’s gone off. "That girl -- Belle -- must have him. She must have taken him to Rumpelstiltskin." 

Abigail feels the wind go out of her. 

"Because I wouldn't give him Regina," she says, glancing up to the others’ desperate looks. "He knows that Henry is the one thing Regina truly cares about." 

Another realization unfolds in her mind, this one even more terrible than the first. "Frederick, Ella, Thomas -- gather the rest of the council and meet us back here. Find whoever's around. If this is what I think it is, we'll need everyone. Snow, James, Emma -- come with me."

When they get to Regina's mansion, Nova and one of her fellow fairies are rounding from the back of the house, scurrying across the front lawn to meet them.

"What's going on?" Snow demands when they get close enough. The fairies come to a flustered stop in front of them, wands still raised.

"There was a disturbance coming from the backyard," Nova says. "We went back to investigate and couldn't find anyone."

"And Regina?" Abigail asks. She's desperate for the answer, even as much as she thinks she already knows. 

"She's inside -- we left her in the living room.” 

It's silent and still inside. The fairies split up while James and Snow begin poking around the front foyer; Abigail and Emma start to look through the rest of the first floor. 

Snow's gasp brings them all running.

The letter is lying on the side table, paper crumbled and words scrawled.

_I have your son_. 

\----

The rest of the war council is at the gym by the time they get back, already arguing amongst themselves about the best course of action.

"Listen Princess, I know you're royalty but this is crazy." Emma's standing, hands planted on a table, leaning towards Abigail in a way that's coming off as at least vaguely threatening. Her heart goes out to the sheriff, for the panic and uncertainty she knows she must be feeling, but there's also anger rolling off of Emma in waves and she's not exactly the most diplomatic negotiator in the best of circumstances. "Henry is _my_ son -- if anyone's going to kick Regina and Rumpelstiltskin’s asses, it's me."

"That's just the problem," Abigail replies, as evenly as she can. "It's already an extremely delicate situation, and it won't do any good for you to go charging in."

"I can go," Snow interjects. "Henry's my grandson, and I know how the two of them work better than anyone else."

The volume keeps rising, reaching a fever pitch while Abigail stares around the room, her own emotions rising as she lets the white noise of chatter stretch on. 

It stops like a shot when she slams her hand down hard on the tabletop. The sharp sound of her palm connecting echoes through the gym, Snow and Emma and the rest staring at her with wide eyes. Her father stands near the back, an approving smile tilting on his lips.

" _Thank you_ ," Abigail sighs, watching her father for a moment and then blowing out a breath, more relieved than sarcastic. "Please, let me do what you elected me to. It's emotion that's ruling Regina and Rumpelstiltskin now -- not strategy, not logic. If we do the same, we will fail and Henry will pay the price."

That seems to sober Emma and Snow up, and Abigail feels assured enough to continue.

"Rumpelstiltskin won't do anything to lose his bargaining chip, and Regina will do anything to protect Henry. But if we charge in ready to fight, we may force their hand." 

The room is still full of dubious looks and whispered questions -- the dwarves shift in their spots, Snow looks mildly furious and Emma outright angry, the rest of the council muttering to each other and themselves.

"They'll listen to me," she says with more certainty than she feels. "Regina was my friend, once. And Rumpelstiltskin doesn't hold any deals or agreements to bend my will." 

"Emma and Red -- you'll come with Frederick and me, though I'll do the talking." Abigail turns to her former fiancé next. "James, take Thomas and Blue and some of the others to the edge of the forest, in case Rumpelstiltskin pushes past us. Snow, you and my father can --"

"Hold down the fort?" Her smile’s forced, and Abigail can tell she's at least a little resentful for being left behind. They need her safe, though. If they fail, and Rumpelstiltskin or Regina turn on the town, Snow has to be alright. They could go on without James if they had to -- Abigail hates to admit it, even to herself -- but without Snow they'd be lost. 

“Yes,” Abigail says. “I’m sorry, but it has to be this way.”

Snow seems to accept that, grudgingly, and moves away from the crowd with James. Everyone else scatters to plan out their final details, and that’s when Frederick pulls her aside, ushering her out into a hallway.

“When were you going to tell me?” he asks in a low voice, glancing around to make sure they’re alone.

Off Abigail’s inquisitive look, he adds: “About Regina. What she planned to do to you. I wanted to give you some time to decide when you wanted to talk about it, but if we're about to go rushing off into battle here then I need to know.”

“I only found out last night,” Abigail says. “I didn’t think it wouldn't do any good to try and deal with it right now, especially when we have more important things happening.”

“She wanted to kill you." Frederick runs his hands through his hair and paces on the spot, panic surfacing all over again. "She _could_ have killed you. What if --”

“Rumpelstiltskin thought it was more strategic to keep me alive.”

Frederick laughs. It comes out harsh, sharper than any words could be. 

“How can you say that?" he asks, and Abigail frowns at him, feeling confused and hurt. 

"Say what?"

"Talk about your life like it's nothing," Frederick snaps. "I'm scared, Abby -- I'm terrified for you. We just got back to each other and all these people seem to want you dead, and I can't even _think_ about losing you again --"

"Frederick."

"Abigail --"

She stops the rest of his words with a kiss, pressing her lips to his with gentle insistence, lingering there until she feels him relax. "You're not going to lose me, and I'm not going to lose you," she murmurs after she's broken away, tracing the line of his jaw with her fingertips. "But this is bigger than us; bigger than just our lives. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yeah, I know." Frederick huffs out a breath, curling his arms around her waist. There's another flash of a memory -- Frederick newly released from her father's golden curse, the elation and relief that had crashed over her, how his every breath and word had seemed like another miracle -- and it almost makes her weep that they're practically back where they started, one of them always on the precipice of danger. "I don't have to like it, though."

"I know." She smiles up at him, wry. "I love you."

"Love you too." Frederick brushes his nose against hers as he pulls back and sighs again, looking like he's resigned himself to whatever lies ahead. "So I guess it's time to round up the troops?"

Abigail looks over her husband's shoulder and sees Red readying her bow; Blue and Nova are talking, and Thomas instructs a group of soldiers as Midas looks on. All of the people she loves the most, who are willing to do much for the town and their people. Who she's about to lead into danger, based on nothing more than her own best instincts. 

“Let’s go.”

\----

It starts as soon as they reach the forest, near the border of town. 

They've only just moved past the tree line -- Frederick, Red and Emma flanking her on each side, James and his line of fairies and soldiers only steps behind them -- when a group of armed men appear out of the shadows. Abigail recognizes a few of them as bandits in their old world, or rough-looking men who hung around the Rabbit Hole when she stopped by for the odd glass of wine. Ruffians and hooligans, all of them; men whose swords were easily bought. Rumpelstiltskin must have been recruiting during the last few days, she realizes, though she wonders if it's money or old deals or promises of something better that's won their loyalty.

Frederick's the first to draw his sword, raising it high in signal as morning sun glints off the blade. It holds, and then Rumpelstiltskin's men rush towards them.

"Attack!" he yells, his voice ringing clear and loud. Abigail watches as James and Thomas fly past her, diving into the fray with the fairies close behind, magic sparking all around them. Red has her bow drawn and a second arrow nocked, the first already having found its home in one of their enemies, and Emma's locked in a fistfight with another man, cold-cocking him with the flat edge of her sword. Frederick stays close by, keeping himself positioned between Abigail and the fighting, only stepping in to quickly dispatch any man who gets too close.

"Keep going!" James is mid-brawl, pausing to throw the words back over his shoulder before his sword clangs against another. "Get to Rumpelstiltskin -- we'll hold them off here!"

"He's right, Frederick," Abigail says to her husband, watching as what looks like a pink fireball flies from Nova's fingers and slams into another one of Rumpelstiltskin's fighters. "We need to find them, now."

"Okay." He signals at Red and Emma and the four of them pull back, leaving the princes and the fairies to continue the battle. 

Red takes an experimental sniff of the air and points west. "They're at least a couple hundred paces," she tells them, moving into the front position with her bow at the ready. Emma and Abigail follow, single file, while Frederick takes up the rear. Red manages to keep tracking Regina, Belle and Henry's scents as they plunge deeper and deeper into the forest, trading sunlight for thick shade as they continue moving. They must almost be at the edge of town, Abigail thinks, wondering how thoroughly the dwarves marked the border line, and that's when Red stops, pointing again to a clearing just beyond the next hill.

"There -- I think they're there," she says. She swallows hard, chancing a quick glance at Emma, like she's loath to add the next part. "And it smells like fear."

Emma doesn't even hesitate, just takes off running, ploughing through the bushes with her sword still in her hand. "Damn it!" Frederick curses and is off with a start, disappearing up the hill in a few long strides. Abigail mutters a few curses of her own and scrambles to catch up, Red close on her heels. 

They arrive to a grim tableau, Emma and Frederick already stopped in their tracks with their weapons dangling useless at their sides. 

Across the clearing, Rumpelstiltskin has his dagger positioned under Henry's chin. Regina's hands are poised in Belle's direction, magic crackling at her fingertips. The four of them look almost frozen in their stances; Rumpelstiltskin and Regina sharing a heated, furious stare, Belle swallowing back clear panic, Henry with tears brimming in his eyes. 

"Ah, welcome all," Rumpelstiltskin drawls. "So good of you to join us."

Regina's stays silent while Rumpelstiltskin keeps up his self-satisfied smirk. Even still, Abigail can see the fear wavering just below the surface in both of them, that they recognize how much they stand to lose. Ratcheting up the tension is Emma beside her, still clearly itching to act, though Red and Frederick mercifully choose to stay back in the shadows. 

"This won't work, I promise you," Abigail says into the terse silence that follows, her voice cracking in a way that makes her cringe. She sucks in another breath, hoping that she's fostered enough goodwill, if she can even call it that, with Rumpelstiltskin and Regina to keep them listening for a few minutes. "This isn't the way to get what you want." 

"That's where you're wrong, my dear." Rumpelstiltskin still has Henry clutched to his chest, though Abigail notices the slightest flinch when Henry chokes out a small sob. "Sometimes a little persuasion is necessary."

"I'm not _moving_ until he lets my son go," Regina adds with force, refusing to tear her glance away from Belle. 

_Okay Abigail, you need to get control of this._ She doesn't think either of them are desperate enough to take things a step further, but she also refuses to underestimate how far they'll go to save their loved ones. How far they'll go if they're pushed. Her mind's racing as she considers all the options; there's no conceivable way the townspeople will accept them back, not after their crimes before and then _this_. They'll want punishment -- it's been difficult enough keeping Regina tucked away in her mansion and out of everyone's thoughts, whispers of Rumpelstiltskin's name still haunting the town. If they ever want some kind of peace, at least until they figure out how to return home, Storybrooke needs to feel like the danger is gone. To most of them, that means Regina and Rumpelstiltskin's heads. It would be ... easy, Abigail knows. Any judge in town would find them guilty of their multitude of crimes; most of them wouldn't bat an eyelash over an execution sentence. It would be so easy to let that brand of justice take its course, but Regina loves Henry so much and Rumpelstiltskin still needs to find his son -- 

"Here's what's going to happen," Abigail says slowly, knowing that every word counts, both for what they'll mean to Rumpelstiltskin and Regina and whether the others will accept them. "We can't let you go unpunished. Rumpelstiltskin has to leave Storybrooke, forever. We'll get you across the town line -- there should be enough magic between you, Regina and the fairies to do it -- and then you'll be banished forever. And Regina, you'll remain in Storybrooke, without your power as mayor or as a magic-user. That goes for both of you, actually -- the fairies will drain whatever magic you have left, and then you'll be just like the rest of us."

Frederick and Red keep their reactions neutral, Regina seeming ready to protest but not saying a word and Rumplestilskin favouring her with a wondering smile that quickly disappears. Emma, though, looks at her like she's grown another head, eye widening in surprise. "Keeping Regina in our custody I get, but you're going to let _him_ out into the world? That's crazy!"

"Storybrooke and the old world are where he has his power, Emma -- making him leave takes it away," Abigail says, still watching Regina and Rumpelstiltskin closely, aware that the uncertainty, the tension, still has its grip on them all. "And besides, he won't be able to do any damage out there without magic. He'll just be a man."

And that's when things go so terribly wrong.

It happens in an instant, though Abigail watches every second of it unfold with awful clarity. Rumpelstiltskin shift his weight behind Henry, lifting his hand off his shoulder for half a second. Regina sees the movement and steps his way, reaching for her son. From Rumpelstiltskin's viewpoint, though, Abigail knows it looks like Regina's advancing on Belle, and so he pulls back the dagger and moves to intercept them. 

Belle spots what’s happening and manages to stumble back but Henry -- who'd already started to move towards Regina’s embrace -- is still caught in the middle, half a step in front of his adoptive mother, stuck between her and Rumpelstiltskin. The dagger comes down with a quickness, so fast that none of them see it, a flurry of bodies and movement as Belle twists and falls to the ground, Henry still frozen and Rumpelstiltskin and Regina moving at each other. Abigail starts to call out a warning but it's too late, and the knife lands with a solid noise. 

"Henry!" she shouts, her voice joining Emma's, as she looks around desperately for wherever he must have fallen.

But Henry's standing. Henry's still standing and that means that someone else must have been hit -- 

Abigail tracks the boy's shocked gaze and finds Frederick, slumped on the ground with one hand clutching his chest. Her husband, always the protector, had seen Rumpelstiltskin's attack too and shoved Henry out of the way at the last minute. 

_No_ , she thinks, pushing back the scream that wants to rip out of her throat, _no no no no no_.

( _The forest is too quiet, and that's when the bandits swoop down on them, appearing like wraiths from between the trees. Abigail stumbles out of her carriage as soon as she hears the attack begin, her guards clamouring after her as she races towards the front of their convoy and to her father and Frederick, skirts hoisted up around her shins._

_There's swords clanging, shouts from all sides, but Abigail keeps running until she sees her father's carriage. Frederick's horse is canting next to the path, and beyond that, a flash of gold and a figure frozen in time._ No, please gods no. _The knight's back is to her, sword raised and ready to strike. She refused to admit who it is until she spies her father, sprawled on the ground behind him, and his eyes -- his eyes say it all._

_Someone's screaming Frederick's name, over and over. Her throat's raw and dry, and_ oh, _she realizes,_ that's me.

_Abigail stumbles to his side, tripping in the dirt and almost falling, then pushing herself up to grasp the arm that's eternally raised in battle. The gold's chilled, unyielding under her touch. She raises herself up and plants her hands on each side of his helm, kissing him. True Love's Kiss -- every child in the kingdom knows its power, that it should break any curse. But as hard as she tries, pressing her lips to the metal over and over again until her mouth and hands feel rough and chapped, nothing happens. There's blood creased in her corner of her mouth, mixing with tears, by the time one of her men finally pulls her away._

_For days and weeks and months after she tries, always returning to the shrine her father constructs as Frederick's final resting place, and true love, the last thing in which she places her ever-dimming hope, doesn't work._ )

Abigail races to his side, tangling her scarf from around her neck and pressing it tight against his chest, right over the wound. She tries not to notice how his whole body's shaking, his face already pale and the breath rasping out of his lungs. There's so much blood already that his hand's painted red, spilling out from between his fingers. "Frederick, just wait -- we'll get help," she whispers to him, her voice already thick with tears, "don't worry, love. Please, you'll be fine -- you'll be fine, I swear." 

"Crap!" Emma drops to her knees next to them, pushing her hands alongside Abigail's in a futile attempt to stop the blood, while Red shouts something about finding Blue and Whale and takes off through the trees.

Henry stands behind them, devastated and tears brimming, while Belle watches the whole scene with wide, frightened eyes. Even Rumpelstiltskin seems shocked, standing in the same spot and gazing down at the bloody dagger like it has the answers to what just unfolded.

"Our magic can save him," Regina urges in the middle of all the panic, starting towards Abigail and Emma. "Let us save him."

Abigail looks at Regina, at her stricken features, and then down at Frederick, her grip on his chest already growing slippery. He's still conscious, though, and he holds her gaze firm as shakes his head, just the barest hint of movement. _No_.

"I won't." 

The words tremble and Abigail can barely keep herself from weeping. A raw, familiar grief grips her insides. The blood keeps coming, so much of it she can't even believe, and she pushes harder against the wound as Emma adds her sweater to Abigail's drenched scarf. 

"Magic always comes with a price. I won't make a deal that gives you --" She looks at Rumpelstiltskin. "-- the run of this world, or you --" Her gaze goes to Regina next. "-- the run of this town. I won't sully Frederick's honour by using his life as a bargaining chip for whatever power you're both desperate to have."

She draws in a breath, as ragged and gasping as it is, and shakes her head. "The conditions of the deal stay the same. Rumpelstiltskin will be banished. Regina and the fairies will accompany him to the town line, and use their combined magic to ensure he can cross. After that, he will no longer have standing in this town and will not be allowed to return. Regina will be forced to stay in Storybrooke. And the fairies will take whatever remaining magic either of you have."

There's a long silence, punctuated only by Frederick's wheezing. _Hold on_ , she thinks through her panic, _please love, just hold on_. 

After an eternal minute, Belle moves closer to Rumpelstiltskin and grasps his arm. "Deal," she says firmly. Rumpelstiltskin doesn't seem poised to argue, only squeezes Belle and fixes Abigail with an appraising look, the smallest quirk passing across his lips. Regina, meanwhile, looks at Henry for a long moment and then back at Abigail, more clear-eyed and determined than Abigail's ever seen her. 

"Deal," she says, and Henry breaks into a grin. Even Emma looks relieved, the edge of tension easing off the group. 

Regina moves to kneel down beside Frederick next, moving in between Abigail and Emma with careful precision. "Please, let us," Regina says as Rumpelstiltskin steps up behind her, a spark of the woman Abigail used to know -- the one who was her _friend_ , who she thought she could trust -- rising to the surface. Turning back to Frederick, Abigail watches as the rise and fall of his chest slows inch by inch, his eyes fluttering closed.

"Okay." 

Regina and Rumpelstiltskin exchange a look, each of them raising their hands to hover just over Frederick. After a moment the air seems to light up and crack with electricity, colours swirling, the power of it practically choking the oxygen away. Suddenly, Abigail feels the blood that'd been pooling around her knuckles cease to flow. Their makeshift bandages -- her scarf, Emma's shirt -- are still soaked through but Frederick's shaking slows and then evens out. 

Scared to even hope, Abigail presses her fingers against the hollow of his neck. The skin's sweat-slicked but cool, clammy, barely any warmth left. 

She can't -- 

This isn't the way he goes, this is _not_ the way she loses her husband again --

_No, it's not too late, it can't be too late, Frederick please_

And then. 

Then, there's the absolute best thing she's ever felt.

His pulse, as sluggish and slow as it is, twitches under her touch, beating a steady rhythm against her fingertips. Green eyes blink open at her and Frederick gulps in air desperately, grasping at her and Emma's forearms in his panic. "Hey there, pal," Emma tries to sooth, pulling him up to rest on his elbows, "don't worry, you're fine."

All Abigail can do is twine her arms around his neck, nearly sobbing with relief. She helps Emma get Frederick sitting upright, even as he scrabbles for a grip on them, breathing hard until one hand is planted in the dirt behind them and the other is tight around Abigail's waist, fingers embedded into length of her jacket. 

"You're okay, love," she whispers to him, "don't worry." 

She almost doesn't notice Regina pull back and stand, brushing the dirt off her slacks with some distaste. Or when Rumpelstiltskin leans in to her and Frederick, so close that his breath ghosts against her hair.

"Consider it a debt repaid," Rumpelstiltskin says, low enough that only Abigail can hear, just before he starts to move away and back to Belle's side. 

"Now we're even."

\----

By the time they've collected James and the others, made arrangements for Rumpelstiltskin and Belle to be escorted the edge of town and for Emma to take Henry and Regina back home, Frederick given a clean bill of health by Dr. Whale, Abigail feels like she's ready to fall asleep on her feet.

The group of them sit around her kitchen table nursing lukewarm coffee, adrenaline from earlier in the night finally ebbing away. One by one they say goodnight and drift from her home, faces as ragged and weary as Abigail is sure hers must be. 

"You did good, kid," Grumpy tells her as he wanders out of the kitchen behind Nova, pride there with his usual gruffness. Her father, who'd waited out the attack with Snow, enfolds her in warm embrace before he goes. Even when he pulls away he's still close enough for Abigail to see the tears in his eyes. 

"I'm so proud of you, daughter," he murmurs to her, pressing a kiss to her forehead. 

"Thank you, daddy," Abigail whispers back, blinking away her own tears. Her shoulders suddenly feel like lead once the words leave her lips, bowing under the weight of everything that’s happened. There's relief there too, but mostly it's just exhaustion. 

Once her father leaves Red is next, giving her an impulsive hug and squeezing so tight that Abigail sees Frederick chuckling at her breathlessness.

"I'll see you tomorrow morning?" Red steps back and queries while Abigail catches her breath. "We have a _ton_ of appointments." 

"Of course," she says. "See you tomorrow."

Red grins, satisfied, and follows Granny out the front door. 

Snow and James are last in the queue. They stop in front of her and Frederick, thoughtful for a moment.

"Thank you, Abigail." Snow takes her hands, gripping them gently, James nodding his ascent in the background. "For everything."

Abigail struggles for a moment, words seeming to suddenly abandon her. "Did you ever think --"

"That we didn't make the right choice?" Gods, Snow knows her too well. The other woman gives her a long look, chased by the flicker of a smile. "Not for a second."

They exchange their final goodnights and Abigail closes the door behind them, pausing to lean against the cool wood once it clicks shut. She starts when she feels Frederick's touch, palms flat against the angle of her hips, and lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she'd been holding -- for days, it seems like. Weeks, even; _months_.

Abigail leans back into him, resting against the broad, sturdy weight of his chest, her eyes fluttering closed to the reassuring sound of his heartbeat.

“I hate to say it, but this isn't over, is it?” Frederick murmurs, drawing his arms around her, encircling her in warmth. She sighs, but it’s funny that thinking about what lays ahead for all of them now -- what lays ahead for _her_ , the list of appointments a mile long -- isn’t as frightening as it used to be.

“No,” she says, grasping his forearms to pull him closer. “It won’t be until we figure out how -- if, even-- we can get home.”

“But it’s okay.” It’s a statement, though the question still lingers in Frederick’s words. Whether _she’s_ okay, whether they’ll be okay with their duelling lives and memories and their limbo of a life, with Rumpelstiltskin always out there somewhere and their hold over Regina still tenuous.

“Yeah.” Abigail twists around to face him, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. Her husband grins back at her and then it’s worth it all over again, no matter what this world or the other one throws at them.

“I think we’ll be fine.”

\----

"Madame Mayor?" 

Abigail starts at the sound of Red’s voice, startled out of her thoughts, the name still ringing unfamiliar in her ears. Everyone's waiting for her outside the office; dozens of issues and problems and concerns to iron out, still so much of their future uncertain. 

_No going back now_.

And suddenly she realizes that with everything that's happened -- with what Storybrooke is now, what _she_ is now -- she never would.

Abigail pushes open the door.


End file.
